


The Wounds of Fortune

by fits_in_frames



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-28
Updated: 2005-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus Lupin's life, in three stages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wounds of Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> _i bemoan the wounds of fortune_  
>  _with weeping eyes_  
>  _for the gifts she made me_  
>  _she perversely takes away_  
>  {[carmina burana](http://www.classical.net/music/comp.lst/works/orff-cb/carmlyr.php#track2)}  
> 

**I. Youth**

_March 10, 1963_

"Mummy?"

"What is it, my favorite three-year-old in all creation?"

"What's that white thing? In the sky."

"That's a cloud, dear. You can tell it's a cloud because all around it is blue and—"

"No, mummy, that. _That_."

"Oh. That's the moon, Remus."

"I thought it only came out at night."

"You can see it better at night, because the rest of the sky is dark. But it's always there."

"Always?"

" _Always_."

 

_June 10, 1968_

He knows he's not like other boys.

For one thing, other boys' fathers buy them whatever they want. If they want a game of Gobstones, they get the really big one, so they can share it with all their friends. Remus doesn't want Gobstones, or have friends, but he still eyes them expectantly in the window. His father tugs on his hand and they move on to the next shop in Diagon Alley and he tries to find something else that his father will refuse to get him.

The only thing he ever really wanted, he thinks, is a Muggle phonograph. If other boys wanted a Muggle phonograph (which they don't), they would get the best Muggle phonograph their fathers could find, complete with records to play on it. His father bought him a used one last year, and they listened to the only record they owned (Bingle Crossy or somebody or other) for weeks.

For another thing, other boys' mothers don't stay home to cry the whole day before a full moon.

 

_September 1, 1971_

He thinks he's going to suffocate, either because he's never seen this many people before, or because his mother is tying his scarf. He feels more out of place than usual. There's a boy with platinum blonde hair, four or five years older than he is, wearing brand-new, black robes and carrying a shiny leather suitcase, in addition to his three trunks. There are two dark-haired boys, chasing each other. He gathers from the screaming and giggling that one of them has the other's glasses. Directly behind him, there's a pretty Muggle girl, with red hair and a very small sister and beaming parents. Even the boy with hair that looks like it's never been washed seems to fit in better than he does.

He looks down at himself: fraying sleeves, patched knees. His trunk is scuffed up, his robes are second-hand. He is suddenly very aware that he has two long scars across his face.

His father tells him they have to get going, his lunch break is almost up. His mother kneels down and gives him a kiss, slipping a bar of chocolate into his pocket. He expects his father to do the same (except without the chocolate, that's Mum's job), but instead, he shakes his hand. "I'm so proud of you, son," he says, in a sort of detached way that says, "I want to tell you that I love you, but you're a man now and I can't. Even though I'm your father, I can't. Son."

His parents leave him alone on the platform, and he tries to make himself as small as possible.

 

**II. Love**

_April 2, 1973_

Sirius is reading a book on spells, for what may be the first time in his life. James is peering over his shoulder, and Peter is working on keeping Remus in his chair.

"What are you doing that is so secret? If you're trying to pull something on me, it's not going to work. I've actually read a lot of books, you know. I've probably read that one."

"I don't think so, Remus." Sirius grins at him. "And April Fool's was yesterday, get your dates straight."

"I know my dates," he says defensively, giving up his struggle against Peter, "You just tend to have a disregard for them when it comes to pranks. Can I at least see what it is?"

"No," James says curtly.

They continue to read in silence, then Sirius turns to James, eyebrows raised. "Do you think...?"

James sighs, half-heartedly. "It'll be a lot of work, but I think we can."

"All right, Remus," Sirius says to him. "You can see the bloody book."

He practically leaps for it. _Advanced Transfiguration_ , the cover says. He opens to the dog-earred page, and the title reads, "Animagi: A Practical Guide."

"No," he says. "No no no no. No. No! You'll all get expelled! Arrested! You could get hurt! You could die! No no no no no." He closes the book and shakes his head and starts to walk toward the shelf James was perusing when they first got to the library.

Sirius grabs the sleeve of his robe and pulls him back with surprising force. "We're doing this for you, you know."

"I know, and that's why I'm telling you not to!" he hisses. He doesn't like the way Sirius is looking him straight in the eye, or the way he suddenly feels much older than 13.

Sirius appears to be thinking, which, Remus is sure, can't be good for anyone involved. "We're going to need nicknames. You first, Remus." He looks at him, then Peter, then James, and says, "How about Moony? Moony. Yeah, I like that. What do you think, boys?"

"I like it," Peter says.

"Brilliant," James says.

"Ungh," Remus says, resigning himself back to his chair, defeated.

Friends, he decides, are both the best thing and the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

 

_May 5, 1976_

Her robes have abandoned her shoulders, and her jeans will fall to her knees if he steps away just a little. Strands of red hair are plastered to her flushed cheeks, across her swollen mouth. He wants to tell her, so badly, but before he can, she closes those hypnotic green eyes and arches her back against the closet door and breathes, "Rem—"

He swallows his own name, resting his hand on her hip. He briefly thinks that they shouldn't even _be_ here (they've got class in seven minutes, not to mention they're _prefects_ ) but then she unbuttons the top of his jeans, and her fingers on his skin feel like cream and velvet and the stuff (James') dreams are made of.

And even though his body reacts, he feels nothing.

 

_January 8, 1977_

"How do you know when you're in love, Prongs?"

James looks a bit eerie with the light of a waning moon reflecting off his glasses, looking at him solemnly from the foot of his bed. This is the James you can tell your deepest secrets and your biggest fears and your wildest dreams, no matter how absurd, and he won't laugh. This is the James that scares him a little. This is the real James.

"How do I put this in Moony-terms?" he says to himself. He purses his mouth and thinks for a moment. Finally, he says, "It's like eating chocolate cake."

"Go on," Remus says, eyebrow raised.

"At first, it's sweet and wonderful and gooey and moist and—" Remus shoots him a look "—not like that, you pervert—and you kind of like the sugar grains from the icing rubbing on your tongue and your friends think it's funny that you've got bits of brown in your teeth. So you get another piece, and another and another. After a while, it doesn't even taste like chocolate cake anymore, but you keep eating it because, dammit, it's chocolate cake and you're _supposed_ to enjoy it. But then you get to the point where you've eaten too much, and you have this feeling in your chest like you're going to throw up, but you don't, but when someone _mentions_ chocolate cake, you feel like your head is going to explode." He pauses, then adds, "At least, that's how it's been for me. I can't speak for anyone else... Why, Moony?" He tosses his head and pushes his glasses up.

Remus opens his mouth, but closes it when Sirius walks in and surveys his two pajama'd friends, sitting cross-legged on Remus' bed.

"What's all this, then, mates? Having a sleepover, are we?"

"Bugger off, Black," Potter says. "Moony and I were having a Deep Conversation, but of course you wouldn't understand that kind of thing."

Sirius shrugs and rummages through his drawer to find a clean shirt for sleeping. The one he's wearing now lifts up to reveal a tiny patch of skin on the small of his back.

"Moony?" James says as though he's interrupting something, "What were you saying?"

Remus makes like he wasn't looking at Sirius, and looks down quickly. He can feel the bed ripple when James stands up.

"Sirius, have you seen a house elf around? I could really go for some chocolate cake. Could you go for some chocolate cake, Moony?"

"No," Remus says, concentrating on his fraying sleeve and trying very hard not to notice that Sirius is now half-naked. "I'm sick of chocolate cake."

 

_June 29, 1980_

He wakes up in the mid-morning to a decidedly sharp pain in his neck. He touches it, and finds a sloppy bandage that was obviously put on him by someone who had been up all night. He rolls over and notices that Sirius has a gash above his eyebrow. Though he doesn't remember how it got there, he mumbles, "Sorry," and kisses his forehead before slipping back to sleep.

 

_December 24, 1981_

He sits at the kitchen table, unaware that the cup of tea he's clutching is cold beyond drinkable, and stares straight ahead at nothing in particular. There's a paper tree hanging on the wall behind him, with gems on it that Sirius bewitched to twinkle two years ago. When he took out the decorations last month, he automatically put it up. Now he doesn't know if he can bear to take it down.

He runs over the wish list in his head, and realizes he will never get anything on it.

He takes a sip of tea, promptly spits it out, and decides that he hates Christmas.

 

**III. Hope**

_March 15, 1994_

He runs after Harry, into his own office, and finds him shivering, sobbing, hiding next to a bookshelf. He automatically kneels down and puts his arms around the boy, who's not really a boy, not anymore.

"What do you hear, Professor?" comes a small, shaky, muffled voice from somewhere under his arm. "Do you hear anything when they come near you?"

_The apartment is lit only by the cold sunlight of an early November morning, and empty except for a battered, overstuffed suitcase and a bassinet which he's trying to change back into a chair, but the charm someone (someone, he tells himself) put on it last night is especially strong, and he has a feeling it won't transform at all, not for years._

"No, Harry, I don't hear anything."

Harry looks up at him with his mother's eyes, through his father's glasses, then settles back into the crook of his arm. He resists the urge to rock him to sleep, and instead tightens his hold, just a little.

 

_June 26, 1995_

The rain slashes against his window. He gets up to close the blinds, when there's a knock on the door. His heart nearly jumps out of his chest before he remembers what that means. The letter from Dumbledore flashes before his eyes:

_Take care of him like he took care of you._

He opens the door to a great big black dog. There are deep gashes on his legs and belly, he is completely soaked, and he can hardly stand up. Though he is quite heavy, Remus picks him up without difficulty. He apparently has enough sense left in him to wait until the door is closed behind them to transform. Remus lays him out on his own bed, and starts walking towards the kitchen when Sirius says, "Moony."

He backtracks.

"Moony, everything's going to be all right, you'll see."

"Sirius," he says with the tone he might use with a very small child, "Voldemort is back."

"I know," Sirius says, grinning weakly and taking his hand. "But I'm with you and that's the important thing."

Remus squeezes his hand and heads off to get bandages. He pauses at the kitchen sink, and is very careful not to make a sound when he cries.

 

_July 1, 1996_

He used to love summertime. It was warm and sunny and sometimes he'd get owls from James and Sirius and he'd laugh so hard that he cried and his mother would get off his case for an hour and let him go outside.

He doesn't know if it's still summer. He's been in the basement of 12 Grimmauld Place for what could be days or months or years. He tries to count how many meals Molly tried to bring him and do the math, but he can't focus long enough to remember. Harry could be all grown up, or Voldemort could be back in power, or everyone could be dead, and he wouldn't know. He shifts in his chair.

For a day or two, he'd half-expected Sirius to march downstairs and start teasing him: _You great sodding lunatic, what are you doing moping around down here for? Just because I'm not here doesn't mean you have to shut yourself off from the world. C'mon, up we go. Molly's got some new recipes she wants to try. I said she could test them on you._

As darkness falls on him, his last thought is wondering if he'll ever see anything in this world again as a man, or if he'll open his eyes tomorrow morning to Sirius' beaming face.


End file.
